


I Could Really Use Somebody

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Angst, But a lot of fluff, Fluff, M/M, and self harm, themes of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: Charles Thomson is alone and tired. John Hancock takes care of him.





	I Could Really Use Somebody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ari_(ily)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ari_%28ily%29).



“Thomson, it’s time to go home.”

Charles Thomson blinked heavily, startled by the voice in the dark rousing him from his thoughts. He squinted, in an effort to make out the figure standing near the door in the dim candle light. The figure approached from the far end of the room, revealing the face of a Mr. John Hancock, gazing at Charles with a worried, pitying expression.

“Thomson,” He repeated, “You can’t stay here. You need to go home.” He stood in front of Charles’s desk, head cocked to one side. He was clearly exhausted, his hair mussed up awkwardly and his clothes rumpled. Still, he gave Charles a pointed look, telling him he wouldn’t be ignored. Thomson sighed, foregoing his normally perfect posture to slump over onto his desk, forehead in his hands. A gust of wind blew in from the window, pushing a few papers to the floor, and causing the candles to flicker uneasily for a moment before the room was utterly silent. It was nearly impossible to see in the dim, flickering light, and Hancock didn’t notice Thomson’s shoulders subtly shaking. Thomson’s hands gripped his hair tightly, his fingers snaking through the dark brown locks.

“Thomson-”

“I know.” Thomson didn’t move, or even look up, he just sat there, utterly despondent. If it hadn’t been for the quiet, shaky response, Hancock would have thought he’d fallen asleep. Even in the dim light, Hancock could tell that he looked terrible. Thomson didn’t eat much and slept even less. He was pale, underweight as far as Hancock could tell, but he still did his job with proficiency and diligence. He worked hard, too hard, Hancock realized.

“Go home,” He said, quietly but firmly, to show that this was an order, not a request. “Sleep.”

Thomson looked up slowly, blinking his large, puppyish eyes tiredly. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. His dark eyes shone in the warm light, glazed over and full of anguish. Seeing his, dare he say it, friend, like this hit John like a punch to the gut. The two men locked eyes for a moment and Thomson seemed to shrink into himself, exhausted and miserable.

“John…” Thomson’s small voice broke the silence, “I… I can’t… I can’t…” He trailed off. Anxiety filled his chest and he buried his face in his hands. Hancock’s commanding presence faltered and his eyes filled with pity. His shoulders drooped and he carefully placed a hand on Charles’s bicep.

“Charlie. What’s wrong? Why can’t you just go home?” His voice nearly cracked. Charles simply shook his head. His head suddenly snapped up to meet John’s worried gaze. His eyes were tormented, desolate and distressed.

“I can’t, John. You don’t understand, I can’t-” He was cut off by his own gasping for breath, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. He sat there for a few moments, shaking in his chair, hugging himself. It only made him seem scrawnier. Hancock simply stared at him, fighting back emotions that dared to show on his face. He watched him patiently until Thomson spoke again.  
“I have nightmares, John. I can’t deal with it anymore. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat…” He trailed off again shakily. Hancock had heard enough. He gently placed his hand on Charles’s, gently picking it up and holding it tightly in his own.

“Come with me, Charlie.”

“No.” Thomson’s voice cracked pathetically.

“Charlie…”

“No, John. You’re going to take me home and leave me there and I can’t-” He was hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Charles. I’m not taking you to your home,” He said flatly, guiding Thomson up from his seat. Thomson was still shaking, slightly, his large eyes widening in confusion.

“Then where…”

“We’ll go to my place,” He said decisively, “You can spend the night.”

A flood of different emotions filled Charles’s brain and he didn’t know how to respond. Was he grateful? Incredibly. But he didn’t want to feel intrusive. And he didn’t want to feel pitied. As Hancock grabbed Charles’s coat from the back of his chair and draped it over his shoulders, Thomson spoke up;

“John, I really can’t-”

“Be quiet, Thomson,” He said, using the commanding voice he used in Congress. Thomson allowed himself a small smile, invisible to Hancock in the dim light. “It isn’t far,” He continued, “We can walk.” He paused. “Unless you aren’t feeling well.” Charles shook his head.

“No, I’m fine,” He replied quietly. He was still nervous about this whole ordeal. There was no reason for Hancock to take him in, he would have been perfectly fine staying overnight in the state house. He’d get so much work done. Still, it had been days since he’d slept and as much as he hated to admit it, he was dead on his feet. He slowly put his arms in the sleeves of his coat, pulling the dark fabric tight around his chest. It felt familiar, comfortable, as did Hancock’s arm around his shoulders. John held Charles to his side as he extinguished the remaining candles with his other hand. When they were all out, and the room was entirely dark, the carefully walked, or stumbled, in Charles’s case, outside. The wide streets were illuminated by stars and gas lamps and were entirely devoid of life. The air was warm and humid, but Charles still felt cold. He was always cold. Hancock seemed to notice this, and he rubbed Charles’s arm softly. Thomson’s eyelids drooped and, against his better judgement, rested his head on Hancock’s shoulder.

“We’re almost there, Charlie,” He murmured comfortingly, “Don’t fall asleep on me just yet.”

Thomson gave a pitiful laugh, quiet and weak, but still there. “Good God, John,” He mumbled drowsily, “I feel terrible.” A look of worry crossed Hancock’s face and he sighed.

“I know Charlie. You need to take better care of yourself,” He said quietly as they walked up the stairs to Hancock’s apartment. Fishing his key out of his pocket, he opened up the door and gently led Thomson inside. With a sigh of relief, Thomson collapsed down into a chair, resting his head in his arms on the table. Hancock fixed him with a look. “No, no, Charles, don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something.” Thomson groaned.

“I’m fine, John, really.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Charles didn’t respond, just looked intently at a spot on the table.

“Thought so.”

“John…”

Hancock slammed his hands on the table in frustration. “No! You’re eating something and that’s final.” Charles winced a little.

“I… I don’t like eating. I just… I don’t want to.”

“Too bad. You’ll die if you don’t. So what do you want?” Thomson didn’t respond. Hancock sighed. “If I make you a sandwich will you eat it?” Thomson nodded, ever so slightly and Hancock finally relaxed. Getting some bread, cheese and salted meat from the cupboards, he quickly threw together a meal for the smaller man. He placed it on the table in front of Thomson. “Eat,” He ordered quietly. Thomson eyed the sandwich warily before practically inhaling it.

“Damn. You were hungry.”

“Shut up John.” Hancock laughed out loud at Charles’s irritable demeanor, before cupping Thomson’s face in his hand. Thomson blushed, looking down at the table again before Hancock patted him on the shoulder.   
“Come on, Charles. You need sleep.” Charles stood up slowly, getting his bearings on shaky legs, before walking over to a comfortable chair near the fireplace. He neatly took off his buckled shoes and placed them on the floor next to him, before curling up in the chair and closing his eyes.

Hancock groaned. “Thomson, what are you doing?!”

  
Thomson blinked his eyes open and stared up at Hancock in confusion. “You said I needed sleep. I’m going to sleep.” Hancock sighed.

“You can’t sleep in a chair, Charles. You’ll wake up sore and grumpier than usual.” Thomson decided to ignore that statement. “There’s a bed, you know.”

Thomson shook his head. “It’s your house. You sleep there.”

“It’s a big bed Charles, “ Hancock responded, his patience slightly wearing thin, “We can both sleep there.” Thomson sat up, nervously, scratching his ankle with his foot. His dark, puppyish eyes gazed up at Hancock.

“Are you sure? I hate to be… invasive.” He swallowed. Hancock just shook his head.

“Come on, before I drag you.” Thomson hopped up from the chair as John led him into the bedroom. Charles stood in the middle of the room awkwardly and turned away as Hancock took off his waistcoat. “Don’t worry Charles,” He chided, “I don’t sleep naked.” Thomson’s face went red.

“I never said you did!” He sputtered. Hancock grinned, though Thomson couldn’t see it. When he turned back around, Thomson was lying in bed, completely straight, still in all of his clothes. Hancock rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” When Thomson turned to look at him, clearly confused, he continued, “You can’t sleep like that, Charles. You’ll over heat.” Thomson sighed nervously and slowly took off his coat, waistcoat, and stockings, before folding them neatly and placing them atop a dresser. He sat back down on the bed, in just a light shirt and his breeches, his bare feet oddly cold even in the hot July air. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and Hancock noticed small scars dotting his wrists and forearms, some pale and some fresh. John sat down next to him, a few candles flickering on the night stand. He took Thomson’s hand in his. Rubbing his thumb up and down his arm. Thomson squirmed uncomfortably.

“John… it’s nothing. Really.”

“Charles…” Hancock couldn’t find the right words.

“Let’s go to sleep. Please.”

Hancock nodded, with a sigh.“Would you like me to leave a candle lit?” He asked politely. When Thomson shook his head, he extinguished it with the tips of his fingers and the room went dark. Hancock rolled over on his side to face Thomson, who’d tugged the blankets up to his chin, much to Hancock’s amusement. After a few minutes, judging by Thomson’s quiet snores, he’d fallen asleep, and John felt himself beginning to grow tired too. Still, he stared up at the ceiling for what felt like an hour in the stifling heat, until he felt movement next to him, reminding him he wasn’t alone. He rolled over on his side to see Thomson, twitching slightly and starting to hyperventilate. Charles whimpered and Hancock immediately felt flooded with a sense of protectiveness for the other man. He slowly wrapped his arms around Thomson’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest.

“No… please, no. I’m sorry, please-”

“Charles, wake up. Charles!”

Thomson gasped, his whole body going rigid in Hancock’s arms. He buried his head in Hancock’s chest. He wasn’t going to let himself cry, dammit. He felt tears fill his eyes.

“Shh… Charles… You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

Thomson was crying audibly now, and as much as it pained him, he simply let it happen, his body shaking in John’s arms. For the first time in years, he felt… safe. Cared for. This feeling, like most others, sent a wave of confusion and anxiety over him, settling in his stomach like a rock. Still, Hancock held him, gently petting his hair and whispering to him, telling him that he was going to be safe. It was the best he’d felt in his entire life. After a while, he slowly fell asleep, as Hancock pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Good night, Charlie.”

__________

Charles woke up alone that morning, and in an unfamiliar environment. He shot up, starting to panic before all of the evening’s events came rushing back to him. He smiled, feeling a light warmth in his chest. The bed was a lot colder than it was the night before, most likely from Hancock not being there, so he slipped his feet out from under the covers and placed them on the floor, before quietly padding out of the bedroom. The warm smell of food overwhelmed him as he noticed Hancock cooking over the fireplace, eggs, and potatoes from the smell of it.

“Good morning, Charles,” Hancock greeted him, not looking up from the frying pan, “Did you sleep well?”

“Y-yes.”

Hancock nodded. “Good. Sit. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Thomson opened his mouth to argue, but instead sat down at the table and was soon greeted by a plate of warm food. He smiled up at Hancock, who sat across from him and returned the smile.

“Thank you,” He said through a mouthful of food, “This is amazing.”

Hancock nodded. “I know. I’m a good cook.” After a while of eating in silence, Hancock asked, “So, you’ll get your things tonight and return here?”

Thomson opened his mouth suddenly, closed it, swallowed, and opened it again. “What?”

“You’ll get your clothes, whatever else you need, and come back here. Right?” Thomson still looked vaguely confused.

“You… want me to stay?” Hancock shrugged.

“Of course,” He said flatly, picking at his food with his fork. “If that’s what you’d like.”

Thomson swallowed. “Why are you being so kind to me?” He asked, not looking up from his plate.

“You could really use somebody, Charlie. And...so could I. So, I’ll stay with you, If you’ll have me.”

Thomson smiled broadly. “John, That would be fantastic.”


End file.
